


In this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

by static_abyss



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Magic, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Arthur, the dagger's presence is almost as much a relief as seeing Morgana had been. It is part of her, and Arthur will always love every part of Morgana until he can’t anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [delacours's](http://delacours.livejournal.com/) wonderful art prompt at the [Merlin Reverse Bang](http://merlinreversebb.livejournal.com/). This was an awesome prompt to figure out and especially to write. Many thanks to my beta, M, for being patient with me. She did her best, and all remaining mistakes are entirely my own. Credit for the title goes to _Broken Crown_ by Mumford  & Sons
> 
>  **Warnings for the following:** mentions of rape and pillage in war times, major character death (see bottom notes for spoilers as to who), mentions of war, mentions of blood.

Arthur is in the council room, his father's throne to his right. To his left are the tall, wooden doors that his father, Uther, ordered sealed until his return. Behind Arthur, the windows are open and he can hear the cries of the wounded knights, the screams of women and children who cannot find their loved ones. He wishes he could get his hands on one of the blades in the armory. He wants to fight, to defend his father's people, _his_ people.

But Arthur is a young man, barely in his sixteenth year. He may know how to fight, but he does not yet know how to strategize. His father had ordered that Arthur stay in the castle because there needs to be someone to rule were Uther to fall in battle.

He feels like a caged bird, paces restlessly along his edge of the table, occasionally stopping to look at the maps spread out before him. The council members had marked the places where the Priestesses practiced their dark magic, and all the Kings of the Land were waging war with them. For as long as Arthur could remember, his father was at war. It seemed that for every sorceress they killed, two more were born, and it wasn't until Gaius had found out about the High Priestesses that the real war had started. The Second Great Battle, the people are calling it: just nine women with the power over life and death against the entirety of the lands.

Arthur is young, but he knows what happens if the Nine Sisters win. He knows that there will be no point in keeping him safe in the castle, because if the High Priestesses win, there will be no Camelot,

His is back to pacing, the pillars to his right occasionally blocking the windows, muting the sound for the few seconds it takes Arthur to walk past the pillars. He makes it to his father's throne, lets his fingers run over the gold armrests.

Just as he turns, the doors open.

***

Morgana can hear the creak of the old wooden door and she cowers under the table, her fist tightening around the ruby hilt of her silver dagger. She can hear the screams of her sisters in the distance, the roar of the Lamia, and the laughs of knights. She smells fire, can feel the beginnings of the Earth's death.

She's shaking as the door opens. Without thinking about it, she raises the blade of her dagger to her own throat.

"We can die," Morgause had said, just before she'd kissed Morgana's head and pushed her into the run down hut away from the battle. "But only swords forged from dragon's breath can kill a High Priestess, and we both know that the dragons have been dead for centuries."

"The Nine Sisters will live," Morgause had said. "Take heart sister. They will live."

But that had been hours ago, days perhaps. Morgana has lost track of time as she hid in the hut. She'd started to think she was safe until she heard the male voices outside of the hut.

Morgana knows her small blade will be of no use against the warriors of Camelot. She is too young, her magic too weak to help her now. She swallows back her fear, takes courage from Morgause's words. She will die and that terrifies her, but she will not tell them anything. These men, who rape and pillage, who spit on what Morgana holds sacred, will not use her against her sisters.

She stands and the cool blade of her dagger is almost a relief to her heated skin. "I am sorry," she whispers.

"Stop," comes the voice of a woman.

Morgana's wrist locks in place, the edge of the blade just barely digging into her throat.

"Don't do it," the woman says, her voice trying to be soothing.

Morgana exhales sharply, as her brain and the rest of her body catch up to what this woman's entrance stopped her from doing. Her knees feel weak and her hands are starting to shake, but Morgana has never seen this woman before. She does not trust her.

"Are you one of them, darling?" the woman asks, stepping further into the hut.

Morgana takes an instinctive step back until the table hits the small of her back. The woman steps into the light coming in from the cracks along the roof. She is beautiful, long blonde hair pinned away from her smooth skin. Her eyes are green, like Morgana's, and wide with surprise. Her dress is blue silk, a golden belt tied around her waist to emphasize how slender it is.

"How old are you?" the Lady asks.

"Twelve," she answers.

"I had a daughter who would have been your age. You look like her," the Lady says, a sad smile gracing her lovely face. "She died very recently."

Morgana does not know what to say. This lady is not here to harm her, that much at least, she can tell.

"They'll kill you if you stay," the Lady tells Morgana. "I can help you."

Morgana is young. She is afraid.

"My sisters," she says.

The lady shakes her head. "I cannot help them all," she says. "I am so sorry."

Her sisters' screams echo through Morgana's head as the Lady comes closer. The hand this woman offers her reminds Morgana of Morgause, of when they were children and Morgause always waited. She thinks of her own mother, of her mother's wild power, her raw beauty. Her mother was one of the Nine Sisters. Her mother would live.

Morgana would not.

"Help me," Morgana says. "Please."

The Lady moves forward, her arms coming around Morgana. "I am Lady le Fay," she whispers into Morgana's ear. "If anyone asks, you are my daughter. What is your name?"

"Morgana," she answers.

***

Arthur loves Morgana from the moment his father brings her to court.

He meets her on the last days of the Second Great Battle. He is almost eighteen by then, a man by all rights, though he is yet to be crowned Prince. He has seen battle, has fought at his father's side against King Lot's army. Arthur has seen dark magic, giant monsters with claws for hands that eat small children. He has heard of the Lamia, of sorceresses who disfigure themselves for power. He knows magic is what killed his mother.

Arthur is in the council room, weary, but triumphant. The knights of Camelot have managed to push King Lot back and his magic wielders back with him. It is only a matter of time before King Lot surrenders, and with him out of the way, there will be no one to protect the three High Priestesses living in his land.

He is wearing his chainmail, dirt across his face, and blood dripping from his sword, when the door to the council room opens. His father steps through, and with him, wrapped in his father's red cape is one of the loveliest women Arthur has ever seen. Her face is pale against the vivid red of the cape and against her black hair, her eyes so bright green that the color seems to jump out from her face.

Arthur does not move as his father leads her to his throne. Arthur watches as the Lady nods at something Uther says. She offers Uther a small smile and wraps the cape tighter around herself. Arthur could not look away from her if he tried. He does not even notice when his father makes his way over to Arthur.

"She is Lady Morgana, the late Lady le Fay's daughter," Uther says. "King Lot's army got to their manor before her father had a chance to raise his knights."

Arthur nods. He has heard a lot about the Sir le Fay and his beautiful wife, the late Lady le Fay, but he has never met their daughter. Arthur looks over at Lady Morgana, at the weariness in her young face. She can be no older than Arthur, but the downturned corners of her mouth and the way she watches the room speak of someone older.

"She has no one left," Uther says, watching Lady Morgana too.

"How old is she?" Arthur asks before he can stop himself.

"Sixteen," Uther answers. "It will do her good to have someone her age to talk to."

Arthur nods his understanding, though he does not know when he will have time to speak to Lady Morgana. He and his men are to ride out in the morning to speak to King Lot and arrange the peace terms. He is curious to know how Lot can control the Priestesses, and how exactly he intends to hand them over to Arthur. After that, Arthur intends to take the three Priestesses somewhere away from Camelot until Gaius can find a way to kill them.

He looks back at Lady Morgana, meets her green eyes. She lifts her chin, her face a blank mask as she stares back at Arthur. He smiles, pleased by her confidence. She narrows her eyes at him for a moment, as though she is sizing him up, and Arthur cannot deny that he likes her already.

***

Morgana hates herself long before Uther Pendragon starts hunting down and killing the last of the Priestesses of the Old Religion.

She is eighteen, and she knows that were it not for the kindness of the late Lady le Fay, who saw a cowering child among the ashes of her husband's destruction, Morgana would be dead.

"My sister," she had shouted.

But the Lady le Fay has been unable to help. She had taken Morgana out of the old hut, had put her on the white horse Lady le Fay had ridden to the edge of the battlefield, and they'd gone back to the le Fay manor. Morgana had had to hide in the stables while Lady le Fay could find a way to sneak her into the manor. From there, Lady le Fay replaced all her servants with new ones, who did not know that Morgana was not le Fay's daughter.

For two months, Morgana lived with Lady le Fay. She'd learned how to walk like a proper lady, how to ride, but most importantly, she'd learned to keep her magic a secret.

"The kingdoms have waged war against magic, not just the Priestesses," Lady le Fay had said. "They cannot know about who you are."

Morgana had taken the words to heart. She stopped paying attention to hum of magic on her skin, stopped touching the trees because they screamed of old Earth magic. She did not listen to the birds in the sky, or the ancient echoes of dragons in caves. She forgot about the Lamia, of power and strength. She pushed away all thoughts of her birth mother, of Morgause's brilliant blonde hair and ferocious grin.

Morgana started calling Lady le Fay _mother_ , and though the first time she did, it felt wrong, by the end of the first month, it was as natural to Morgana as breathing. It helped that Lady le Fay did everything she could to make Morgana happy. She bought her toys, let Morgana pick the fabric to make her dresses. When Morgana asked to learn how to wield a sword, Lady le Fay had the best sword master in town teach Morgana.

When Morgana had first held real steel in her hands, she'd thought back to the night the first kings had stormed the Isle of the Blessed. When she learned how to fight, how to defend, she heard every one of her sister's death cries.

"She could be a great warrior," the sword master had told Lady le Fay. "If only she had been born a boy."

It was the first time someone had ever told Morgana that she could have been better had she been born different. Though the sword master was just voicing the truth, Morgana couldn't help but think back to all the other things she could have done differently, to how much she could have done had she _been_ different.

_If only she had known how to fight when the first knights had stormed the Isle of the Blessed, then some of her sisters would have made it out alive._

_If only she were more powerful, she could have saved them all._

_If she had just moved the blade of her dagger against her throat, she would not have to live knowing that her sisters were dying._

_If she had not been a coward, she might have not lost Morgause._

She repeats them like a mantra even now in the Pendragon castle, has repeated them since she was twelve and living with Lady le Fay. She's added some since then, other regrets she has, so that the voice in her head is a constant stream of failures.

_If she had not shut her magic out, then she might have saved her adoptive parents._

_If she had not been afraid, she might have killed King Lot herself._

_If she had not been scared, she might have revealed who she was to the King and asked to be taken to her sister._

_If she was not a coward, she would kill Uther Pendragon and his son for murdering her sisters._

But Morgana knows it is better to keep quiet, just as she kept quiet when Lady le Fay's husband found out about Morgana. Sir le Fay had surprised Morgana. She'd been stronger when she'd met him, more alert. She'd seen the tall, mountain of a man, with dried blood at the edges of his cape, his hair an uncombed mess from months at war. 

He'd reminded Morgana of the knights that had stormed into the Isle of the Blessed, of the men who had raped and pillaged. She'd been afraid, but that monster of a man would never have denied his wife anything, and he'd accepted the story that Morgana was an orphan of the war. He'd let her stay in his manor under his protection, had tousled her hair when she'd been unable to speak to him. That man, who had cut down her sisters, only ever had gentleness to give to Morgana. He told her stories, cheered her on when he caught her practicing the sword.

Sir le Fay had sharpened her dagger and bought her a handsome leather sheath for it. He'd called her _Little Morgan_ , had snuck pastries into her room when he came to say goodnight. Morgana had known nothing but love from him and his wife. She'd been so young, and it had been so easy to love the people who comforted her, who kept her safe.

She mourned their deaths, had called them parents in front of Uther Pendragon and his son, Arthur. She was replacing her sisters, erasing her own parents. She knew it, and she hated herself for it.

***

Arthur knows Morgana is hiding something, and that the weight of her burden is almost too much to handle. At first, he thinks it is her parents' deaths that make her quiet, and sadness that ages the corners of her eyes. He notices that she does not sleep, that the bags under her eyes become more pronounced each day.

"Will you go for a walk with me?" he asks her, one day.

Lady Morgana is in a green dress, a gold belt emphasizing her slender waist. Her serving girl, Gwen, had combed out Morgana's hair so that it shone, a long cascade of black curls tumbling down her back. She would have been beautiful, Arthur thought, if only she smiled. But it was not his job to change her. He would never dare.

"A walk?" Morgana asks. "Really?"

The playfulness in her tone surprises him. Arthur is aware that he is gaping when Morgana smiles. He does not know what to do with her, doesn't know how he could have read her so wrong. He'd thought she needed space, that this walk would be mostly him talking.

"What is it?" she asks, turning to look behind them.

Seeing nothing, she turns her green eyes back on him, a confused frown on her face. 

"It's nothing," Arthur says. "I just thought—"

He doesn't finish his thought, doesn't say that he thought she'd be sadder. It had been two months since Morgana came to the castle, but it is the first time she and Arthur have talked.

"You thought what?" Morgana asks, raising her eyebrows at Arthur. "You thought that I would be sad and that your company would make everything better?"

"No," Arthur says, his face heating with embarrassment. "I never said—"

"Relax," Morgana says, laughing. "I was joking."

Arthur doesn't know what to say. She caught him off guard, and that makes him defensive. Even more so, because a small part of him did invite her on a walk thinking he'd be able to make her feel better. It's not that he thinks his presence would be enough, but he'd thought that maybe if she went out with someone, if she had someone besides the servants to speak to, she might breathe easier.

"Oh my god," she says, her eyes passing over Arthur's face slowly as she studies him. "You _did_ think your presence was going to make me feel better. That is something."

"Can you blame me?" Arthur says, encouraged by her amused smile. "I _am_ very good looking."

Morgana laughs, her shoulders hunched forward, hair falling over her face. He watches her, can't help his own smile. When she straightens, there is color to her cheeks, a pleased expression on her face.

"I see the hubris people talk about," she says, but her tone is teasing.

Arthur frowns. He knows that there are people who consider him big headed. He knows that at times, he still acts more like the sixteen-year-old child he was than his twenty-year-old self. He can be impatient and rash, but Arthur can admit his mistakes, learns from them. He is trying to be a better Prince, to be someone who the people of Camelot want as their ruler.

"You're upset," Morgana says when the silence drags on too long.

Arthur shakes his head, offers her a smile. She watches his face, but must be content with what she finds because she returns his smile and takes the arm Arthur offers her.

They walk among the castle gardens, past the area where Arthur and his knights train. He shows her the armory, lets her hold Excalibur, the sword Gaius swears was forged from dragon's breath. He tells her that Excalibur is the only sword that has been able to kill a High Priestess.

Morgana lingers on the sword, runs her fingertips almost reverently along the blade.

"Do you want me to teach you how to hold it properly?" he asks.

Morgana nods. "Can I try first?" she asks.

"Be careful," Arthur tells her.

He watches her unsheathe the sword carefully, ends up taking an involuntary step forward when she drops the sheath to the ground. Morgana breathes out evenly, her hands wrapping around the hilt of the sword. She pulls it up in front of her one handed, her feet apart to help her keep balance.

"You've had training," Arthur says, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Morgana laughs, putting down her arm and letting the sword slide through her hands until it points straight down. "There are many things you do not know about me, Arthur," she says.

Arthur does not think too much about it. With the war against King Lot over and the death of seven of the Nine Sisters, he and Morgana have more than enough time to get to know each other.

***

Morgana has a soft heart. She cannot walk among the people of Camelot and not love them when they throw flowers at her feet. She cannot help but grow protective of her serving girl, Gwen, because Gwen tells her stories and makes Morgana laugh.

Morgana does come to care about the people of Camelot, because they did not question her presence in the castle. When Uther announces her betrothal to Arthur, the entirety of Camelot rejoices. There are songs about Morgana's beauty, rumors of her skills with a sword. Lords from the lands nearby come to see her, and Morgana enjoys watching Arthur chase them away.

With peace between Camelot and King Lot, there are thousands of distractions every day. Uther throws a jousting tournament on Morgana's birthday, orders a melee to honor Arthur. There are feasts to welcome different lords and ladies, feasts in other kingdoms to celebrate the birth of sons and daughters. Morgana gets carried away by how alive everyone is, by the people who care for her, by Gwen and Arthur, and even Uther.

The voices that used to haunt Morgana's dreams quiet down. She mourns the death of her sisters, but she is safe for now, and the more Morgana talks to Arthur, the more convinced she is that he does not truly hate magic. She starts thinking that she can change the way he thinks, almost believes that Arthur would not hand her over if she were to tell him where she really came from. She thinks that Uther dotes on her enough that he might show her mercy.

She almost believes it, until Arthur catches Morgause.

-

It happens on one of the regular rounds around the borders of Camelot. Morgana is twenty years old at the time. Arthur is twenty-two. Their marriage is a few months away, the dress Morgana is to wear already hanging in her closet. The jewels Uther's wife wore at her wedding are in a small chest in Morgana's room. She is so happy, in the dining hall with Uther, when Arthur comes in.

"I found Morgause," Arthur announces.

Morgana is mid-swallow, the wine like tar on her tongue when she hears the news. Arthur is beaming, his blue eyes shining through the sweaty blonde hair plastered to his forehead.

-

There is a trial, but Uther does not let Morgana go. She sits in her room, running nervous fingers along her silver dagger in its leather sheath. She waits as the afternoon turns to night and the moon comes out. If Morgana listens carefully, she can almost hear the cry of the Lamia mingled with the cries of her dead sisters. She can feel her magic pressing against the cage Morgana has built around it.

She lies awake late that night, fully dressed when she sends Gwen away. Arthur finds her with her hand curved around her dagger when he comes in.

"Gwen said you couldn't sleep," he says, sitting next to Morgana.

His hands are cool against her warm forehead, his voice soothing, not matter how much Morgana wishes it weren't.

"What are you going to do with Morgause?" she asks, hoping that it's not a strange question to ask.

Arthur's hand moves from Morgana's hair to rest atop the hand holding the dagger. He does not try to take it away, but Morgana did not think he would. Arthur understands her without Morgana needing to say anything. She loves that about him, how he knows just what to say, what to do to put others at ease. She's seen him among the people of Camelot, riding atop his warhorse, golden crown setting a halo on his golden hair. When Morgana looks at him, she sees the future king of Camelot. She sees a champion.

"She's going to die tomorrow," Arthur says.

Morgana sits up, the movement putting her face close to Arthur's. He's beautiful, she thinks. She's always thought him beautiful and strong. She knows he's capable of great kindness, of unwavering attentions when it comes to her. 

But when Morgana looks at him now, she sees cold blue eyes and the hard edges of the future king. When he speaks about Morgause and magic, Morgana can see cruelty already settling into Arthur. In that moment, he is not Arthur. He is the man who is going to kill her sister, and Morgana hates him.

-

Morgana makes herself wait until she is sure that Arthur made it back to his own room, waits a little longer until she can be sure that he is asleep. Then, she puts on her dark blue cloak over her dress and tucks her dagger into her belt.

The halls are empty as she makes her way down to the dungeons. She finds no one until she gets to the entrance to the dungeons. She can make out two guards sitting across from each other, spears in their hands, eyes alert. But Morgana is a lady of the castle.

She steps out into the middle of the room, her chin up, daring the guards to say anything. The closest one to her is barely past boyhood, his wide brown eyes filled with apprehension. Morgana does not want to kill this boy. She turns her back on him, and steps towards the older guard.

The man is watching her closely.

"I'm sorry," Morgana says, voice sweet as she can make it. "I couldn't sleep, and went out for a walk, but everything looks so different at night."

The guard nods. "You can take the staircases out through the doors behind you," he says.

Morgana half turns to look behind her. At the same time, she takes a step closer.

"I'm sorry," she says.

It seems, to her, that time slows down as she brings her dagger out from its sheath and up towards the guard's neck. She slices the first guard's throat with her dagger, the blood spilling hot onto her hands. The only other time she's seen more blood than this was when King Lot sacked Sir le Fay's manor.

It's almost as if Morgana can hear the screams again, the low moans from the men who lay on the ground. She knows better than to close her eyes, knows that when she does, she sometimes sees them. She breathes in, the coppery smell of blood thick in the back of her throat.

She's so focused on the wild beating of her heart and the gasping breaths of the guard in front of her that she does not notice the second guard. By the time she turns around, he's already lifting his sword above his head. She means to throw her arms up to protect herself, but the guard goes flying backwards, as though pushed by a great force.

Morgana stands there, her body humming like a live wire. She can feel the guards' heartbeats, as though she holds their hearts in her hand. The beats get stronger, pounding against the side of her head. When the first guard stops breathing, Morgana feels it like a weight on her tongue. It takes moment, and then it's as if something is lifting away from her with each exhale. Her head feels heavy, but the rest of her body is alive, shivers running up her arms and down her spine.

Morgana's hands are shaking, her breath wild. She falls to her knees, focuses on the heartbeat of the second guard to ground herself. She closes her eyes and focuses on his heart, on the way she can almost feel the weight of it in her hands. She clenches her fist and the guard cries out. She does it again, and again, drowning in the sounds of pain, _living_ , even as the guard takes his last breath.

She stays on the ground on her hands and knees, letting the ripples of power course through her body. She can feel powerful magic from deep beneath the Earth. When Morgana closes her eyes, she can hear Morgause's magic calling to her. She shuts her eyes tighter and lets the magic pushing at her from all sides in, lets it unfurl from her chest. She can hear everything from the echoing screams of those tortured deep in the Camelot dungeons to the laughter of the young children who ran in these halls.

The magic is a bright light pushing past the floor and into Morgana. It seems to push past her hands, red hot until it makes its way to her chest. She can't breathe past the knot in her throat, wants to cry at the rightness of her magic settling inside her. She has pushed it away for so long that she'd forgotten how much better air tasted in the lungs of the priestesses. She hadn't known how alone she was until this moment, when everything on Earth seemed to speak to her.

Morgana shakes on the cold floor in front of the entrance to the dungeons. She weeps for the years she's lost, for the number of times she's rejected who she was. She cries because she did not know it would be like this. She did not know that getting her magic back would be like remembering she'd cut off a limb. Her body feels as though it is being ripped apart to make room for the magic that is settling inside, but Morgana welcomes the pain in her body.

She waits until she can breathe again before sitting up. Her magic sings just underneath her skin, and Morgana is glad.

When she stands, Morgana is free.

***

Arthur looks for her. He sends out search parties into the forests near Camelot, further into King Lot's lands and the lands to the West. Each time the knights come back with no news, and still Arthur does not give up. He sends them out, further and further apart as war breaks out with the King of the East.

It never occurs to Arthur that Morgana might have headed there. The King of the East is the last of the kings that offers sanctuary to the High Priestesses. Morgause the Wild, and Nimueh the Water Worker hide in his kingdom. It is the last place with magic, the last kingdom to defeat if they are to purge the land of the evil.

Arthur cannot reconcile clever, beautiful, caring Morgana with the evils of magic. It is so far beyond the realm of possibility that even when he sees her riding out between the other two High Priestesses at the head of the Eastern king's army, he does not think her one of them.

***

Morgana rides on a white warhorse, the wind bringing the smell of blood and carnage to her. Morgana is a High Priestess, one of the Nine Sisters. She can feel magic as far as the roots of the large trees of the forest. She can feel the power of the Earth when she steps barefoot on the ground, can feel it now through the hooves of her horse.

If she closes her eyes, she can hear thousands of feet marching to beat of their hearts. She can almost see them, one by one, Arthur's men spread across the battlefield. She can picture how Arthur must look, golden atop his black horse, his red cape and pristine chainmail making him easy to spot among all the knights. He will be perfect and proud, and though Morgana wishes it were different, to kill him is to end this war. She has seen enough sisters die, has seen the massacre of children at the hands of Uther and Arthur, at the hands of all who oppose magic.

Morgana will see Arthur dead before the day is over.

***

Morgana's dagger is what kills Arthur.

He sees her ride across the open plain, one sweep of her hand and all the men before her scatter. Arthur watches her come closer, sees the same girl he'd fallen in love with, dressed in a rich green dress, her hair flying freely behind her. She holds a sword in one hand, and what men she cannot brush away with her magic, she kills with her sword.

Arthur knows what she is planning to do, but when she gets to him, he can’t bring himself to raise his sword against her. When he looks into Morgana's face all he sees is the scared girl who had come to Camelot. He has seen her laughing at his expense, has seen her wielding Excalibur in the armory. He's seen Morgana whispering to Gwen, has seen her blushing on the day Uther announced her betrothal to Arthur.

Even when Morgana's sword cuts through his side, even as he falls off his horse, he cannot reconcile this Morgana with the one he knows.

"Why?" he asks.

She hesitates, Arthur is sure she does. But when he looks at her again, he sees nothing but fury in her eyes.

"All my life," she says. "I'd felt dirty and wrong. All my life, I hid while you and others like you murdered my sisters."

And the thing is, Arthur understands. He knows what it must have been like for her, to have to hide among her enemies. He can see where her anger comes from, will forgive her a thousand times over if she just asks. Arthur did not really know, until this moment, just how much he loves Morgana.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"It's too late," she tells him.

He sees the rubies of her dagger first, doesn't even feel it when she casts the binding spell on him. He can't move, but Arthur thinks that even if he could, he wouldn't. He tries to tell her that he's sorry, tries to let her know that she means more to him than anything, that had things been different, he would have torn down Camelot to make her happy.

"It's too late," she says again, as though she knows what Arthur is thinking.

The dagger isn't even cold when it touches Arthur's neck. He has seen it in her hand so many times, has seen her tuck it under her pillow when she had nightmares. To Arthur, the dagger's presence is almost as much a relief as seeing Morgana had been. It is part of her, and Arthur will always love every part of Morgana until he can’t anymore.

***

She will mourn his death.

Despite what he did, Morgana knows Arthur was good. She knows that in a life without Uther, he might have come to accept magic. But she also knows his and Uther's deaths were the fastest way to end the war. She is done hiding, all of her sisters are. She wants to live free.

She waits until Arthur has stopped breathing, then she leans down and takes the red cape off his shoulders. She drapes it across her shoulders like a cloak. She still holds her silver dagger in her right hand, and she leans down once more to wipe it clean across Arthur's cheek. She watches the red smear on his face for a moment, memorizes the peace on his face because even in death, Arthur remains golden.

She tucks the dagger back into its leather sheath, the ruby encrusted hilt catching the last rays of the setting sun. Morgana stands for a moment, looking out into the distance, past the pile of bodies, and at the flock of birds flying away just above the line of trees to her right. There is silence for the first time in a long time, both in her surroundings and in Morgana's head.

She stays a while longer, trying to remember if this is what peace felt like before the wars. Then, she turns and walks away.

In the distance, Morgause waits for her.

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: Arthur dies because Morgana kills him to end the war.


End file.
